


Chicken scratches

by Get_below_my_line_of_vision



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, Gertrude Cinematic Universe (GCU), Gertrude returns, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:53:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24669439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Get_below_my_line_of_vision/pseuds/Get_below_my_line_of_vision
Summary: Grantaire wrote Enjolras a love letter. The problem? His handwriting was unreadable- Enjolras couldn’t even make out a word of it. Not that Grantaire knew.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Grantaire & Éponine Thénardier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 64
Collections: Gertrude the Killer Chicken





	Chicken scratches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Butter_Churner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Butter_Churner/gifts).
  * Inspired by [If Only I Could Be Yours (And You Could Be Mine)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24615283) by [A_Butter_Churner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Butter_Churner/pseuds/A_Butter_Churner). 



> Message: I know I said I wouldn't write this... but I wanted to. Thanks for the idea that you didn't want me to write but I did anyway!
> 
> Note: “Mon pote” is used as “bro” or “man” in French.  
> They are of school age, so let’s spin the wheel: they are…. 15! (I actually spun the wheel and got 15 after I wrote this- what a weird coincidinky-do-do.)

When Grantaire wrote out of passion, he let the thoughts and emotions drive him and lead his pen. The problem there was that there was a severe lack of brain input. This would result in poetic sounding sentences with poor grammar. But at least the heart was in it, right?

Since the two didn’t share any classes with each other, Grantaire gave the letter to Éponine to relay it to Enjolras. Did Éponine share any classes with the boy? No. But somehow she could always deliver letters. And threats. She technically wasn’t a person anyone wanted to mess with.

With nervousness grasping his throat, Grantaire wasn’t able to pay attention for the rest of the day. The highlight of the day shone when Éponine came over to his house. As she entered, she heard a muffled sound of a chicken from another room, “You have a pet chicken now?”  
“Gertrude? Yeah… My family overseas disowned it after it was a suspect for…” He furrowed his eyebrows, “It doesn’t matter.”  
Éponine shrugged.

They chatted as they always did and they played Monopoly which scared him as he thought she was going to declare a war against him and they played Wii Sports. While doing so, the unhealthy Grantaire huffed out, “What was Enjolras’ reaction?”  
Éponine, who didn’t seem to be fazed by the exercise, paused the game and scrunched her face then lifted her eyebrow, “He looked like that when he opened the letter. Hey, what did you even put in there anyway?”  
“Oh, that’s not a good sign,” He muttered as he pressed ‘play’, “I confessed.”  
Éponine immediately hit pause again, “You WHAT?” She smiled, grabbing his hands, “You’ve been obsessed--”  
‘In love.”  
“With him for so long! I’m so glad you…” Then she realised why Grantaire had a sad expression, “Right. Enjolras… didn’t like the letter…”  
“Exactly.” He exhaled, “So let’s just play Wii, beat me in another game, laugh at me, then mock our teachers like we usually do.” He shrugged, “The good thing is I don’t have to try to avoid Enjolras. He never notices me anyway…”  
Éponine tried to give the biggest smile she could make, showing him moral support.

Then there was a ‘ping’ from a phone. Immediately Éponine checked hers and said, “It's not mine…”  
Grantaire sighed as he strolled to the dining table where he left his phone, “An email…” He said, confused, “Who uses e-mail to talk-- oh my Hugo, it’s him.”  
“What?” Éponine ran over to him, tripping on nothing as she did so, “Who?”  
“Enjolras.” Grantaire turned to look at her with tears in his eyes, his hand shaking like they were experiencing an earthquake of a magnitude of six.  
“Okay, okay, calm down,” She carefully removed the smartphone from his hand and led him to sit down. “Um, do you want me to read it?”  
“No, no,” Grantaire breathed to calm himself, “I’ll do it.”  
“Okay.” Éponine said, relieved, and quickly handed him the phone.

Anxiously, Grantaire pressed his inbox in which his finger hovered on top of the email.  
“Press it,” Éponine whispered since Grantaire was obviously not going to manage the simple task alone.  
“Okay, okay,” He breathed in, then, he pressed it.  
It read:

_Hi, Grantaire_

__

_I think we should talk in email instead._

__

_Love,  
Enjolras_

Grantaire almost fainted when he read it.  
While he searched for fresh air, Éponine sneaked a peak. “Oh, look, R, he said ‘love’.”  
Grantaire was crawling on the floor at this moment, “He always signs like that.”  
“No, it means he likes you.” Éponine tried to be supportive as she pulled out her phone. She had received an email from him before when Enjolras didn’t like the fact she kept bringing chewing gum to school since apparently his friends were ‘distracted’. She scrolled down and it read ‘Love, Enjolras’. “Huh.”

Suddenly feeling a wave of energy, Grantaire stood up, hoping his embarrassment stayed on the floor and not have followed him, “You know what, ‘Ponine?”  
“What?”  
“If he wants to talk about our relationship, he should be man enough to talk about it face-to-face. Why email?”  
“Yeah…” Éponine cocked her head in thought. “Why…?”  
Her train of thiught was cut off by a screech from a chicken. It had magically appeared beside her on the table.  
“Jesus, where did she come from?” Éponine jolted backwards.  
“No, she does that all the time.” He narrowed his eyes, “She teleports.”  
“Wasn’t she in another room with the door closed?”  
“I’ve stopped questioning it at this point.”

By the time the next day rolled around, Grantaire was ready to shout at Enjolras. He approached behind him at lunch in which Enjolras followed his friends’ eyelines and turned around to see him. “Hey, you didn’t respond to--”  
Grantaire pulled him by the arm to take him outside to talk privately. This type of behaviour alerted no one since they have seen Grantaire produce strange behaviour so often. Thus, instead, his friends just watched Enjolras get awkwardly dragged away.

Once they were outside and far from anyone’s ears, Grantaire breathed in smoothly then burst, “What the hell, Enjolras?”  
“What’s going on?”  
“When someone confesses their undying love for the other, the appropriate reaction is not “let’s email”.”  
"Well, on emails one person can actually read what the other is saying," It was as if there was a clock in Enjolras’ head, ticking down to the moment he understood what Grantaire meant, “You like me?”  
“Yes! Of course I love you-- wait, why do you sound so surprised?”  
Enjolras scratched the back of his ear, “Why didn’t you tell me?”  
Grantaire almost burst out in laughter, “I did tell you! In that letter!”  
“This?” He pulled out the letter from his pocket.  
“Why are you carrying that around?”  
“Because I can’t read it- I’ve been trying to decipher it, but honestly, it just looks like chicken scratches, mon pote.”  
For a moment, Grantaire truly believed Gertrude had swapped his letter out with the letter Enjolras was holding. But upon closer inspection, it really was his own handwriting. However that wasn’t all. There was Enjolras’ handwriting too in the form of notes sprinkled throughout. Grantaire couldn’t wipe away his smile. The notes meant that Enjolras really, really did try to understand what he wrote down. “Why did you spend so long trying to decipher it? You could've just given up. Why didn't you?” He muttered in disbelief as he looked up.  
In response, Enjolras just shrugged. “Because I like you.”

Grantaire dropped the letter.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Gertrude cinematic universe. Welcome.


End file.
